


I've Never Had A Friend Like You

by Fangirlshrewt97



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Because I need Geralt to communicate, Bonding, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, My First Work in This Fandom, Self-Doubt, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Talking, This fic is softer than a marshmellow, Touch-Starved, Touching, Yes I am using that tag, all the softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24017500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlshrewt97/pseuds/Fangirlshrewt97
Summary: After a hunt gone wrong, Jaskier takes care of Geralt. This gives Geralt the time to realize how much the bard means to him. And how precious he makes Geralt feel.Alternate title: Geralt learns to use words
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 380





	I've Never Had A Friend Like You

**Author's Note:**

> Dear readers,
> 
> I hope that I got the characterization right! I only joined the fandom a couple weeks back, but after binging the show, I knew I would inevitably write a couple stories for this fandom. I am still mad at Geralt for Episode 6, so I wanted to write a story where he isn't stupid and is a good friend to Jaskier. This fic about 5 years after they start traveling together.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the story, and if you do, please let me know through comments/kudos!
> 
> None of these characters belong to me, I am just borrowing them!
> 
> Thank you,
> 
> Fangirlshrewt97

The callouses always surprised him even they should have been the least surprising thing about this situation. Jaskier was soft with him, softer than any human had ever been with him. Or any had ever been with a Witcher, Geralt was willing to bet. The basilisk poison was still coursing through his body, the potion he had taken before the fight the only reason he wasn’t dead. But he had been slow, still healing from dealing with a werewolf mere days ago, the basilisk had been happy to put up a fight.

The poison had him in a half paralyzed state, his limbs feeling as though they were made of stone. Jaskier, the self-preservation lacking fool had wandered into the cave when Geralt had taken too long coming out even after the sounds of the fight ceded. Although, in this case it had worked out had it not? As had every other time Jaskier had followed Geralt and pulled him out of whatever trouble and injury he had gotten into. After nearly five years travelling together, the bard had adapted far better to the Path than Geralt would have believed possible.

So he was laid up on his bedroll, the darkness of the night being kept at bay within their camp due to only a small campfire Jaskier had whipped up in between stripping Geralt’s armor and cleaning the wound. He had also set up a small pot with water to boil. The bard had moved away to retrieve his potions from Roach’s saddlebags, still having difficulty telling the concoctions apart unless they were different colors.

“Alright, I have three different things that all smell three different kinds of awful. Which one would you like?” Jaskier announced lightly as he brandished his treasure in front of Geralt’s face. The fire was bright enough to make out the different colors. “Blink once for the black one, twice for the green, thrice for the transparent one.”

If he could, Geralt would have growled. As he couldn’t, instead he delivered the angriest two blinks Jaskier had ever seen. Unfazed, Jaskier set aside the black and transparent potions, and removed the cork of the green one, nearly dumping it when the full smell hit him. Geralt didn’t blame him, there was a reason Witchers swallowed potions in one gulp rather than sips after all.

“Oh Melitele! I think I am going to vomit. What the hell is in this Geralt?” When he saw the Witcher glaring at him, he sighed. “Right you can’t speak.”

Jaskier sat on his knees by Geralt’s head, using one hand to cup Geralt’s face gently and coaxing his jaw open with it, before pouring the potion he had into his mouth.

The potion burned on the way down, allowing Geralt to track it as it made it’s way through his body and entered his blood, setting it on fire. He started unconsciously gritting his teeth as much as he could to obscure the pain, only stopping when Jaskier pressed his calloused fingers against his forehead.

“Here, darling, unclench your jaw. There you go. Yes just like that.” Jaskier said as he guided Geralt to relax. “Open your eyes?”

Bright amber met light blue, and Jaskier smiled. “Thank you Geralt. I am going to wrap your wound now, and I need to move your shirt. Blink once for ok.”

Geralt blinked.

“Good. This might hurt for a second, but I’ll try to be quick,” Jaskier warned as he untucked the Witcher’s tunic from his pants. He then put his hands on Geralt’s uninjured side and pushed, using his own body for Geralt to fall against until he was on his side.

With a fast yank, Jaskier moved the shirt until it was below Geralt’s armpits, and then he produced a roll of bandages Geralt hadn’t noticed before. Taking the rag he had been using to clean the wound, he dipped it into the pot of water, wringing it till it was damp and lightly applied it to the wound, moving quickly but gently to clear any other dirt or mud in the wound. Once done, he bandaged it, motions practiced after 5 years of doing them.

“Alright, all patched up. Now, blink once for staying on your side, or twice for me to roll you onto your back.”

Blink. Blink.

“Brace yourself” Jaskier warned softly before rolling Geralt onto his back. Once settled, he reached into his own pack and brought out his spare blankets, and rolled them into a tight cylindrical shape before scooting over to Geralt’s feet.

Gently, because Jaskier, for all his loudness and brashness, and eye-hurting brightness, was always gentle with Geralt. Geralt confessed, he did not understand the bard most days, but least of all when Jaskier not only fearlessly followed a Witcher other humans avoided like death, but treated him with kindness the like he could not recall ever being shown. And he did it so easily, because for him, it was easy. He considered Geralt a friend, declared it proudly in the empty woods as often as in crowded taverns, unquestionably showing everyone who his loyalties lie with.

Geralt his teeth once again as a new pain shot through him, even in his paralyzed state.

“You broke your ankle. Although, considering your healing speed, we will probably be back on the road in two days,” Jaskier ranted, “But then again, considering your stubbornness, I would not be surprised if you woke me up tomorrow at the crack of dawn and yelled at me to move faster. Oh Jaskier, slow human bard, hurry up and keep up with me, trained Witcher with the power to snap you in half like a twig.”

But Geralt had to give it to the bard, he was smart. He had used his rant to keep Geralt focused on his words and not his hands, and sneakily placed the rolled up the blanket under his broken ankle.

He placed a warm palm around the skin above his ankle, the heat reaching Geralt’s very core. One thing he had never expected before meeting Jaskier was to have a human be so unafraid of him. Don’t get him wrong he didn’t want the humans to be afraid of him. And he had met his fair share of humans who were brave enough (or drunk enough) to come and hold a conversation with him. He had had whores who touched him as if with desire, but whether that was truly because of him being the object of their desire, or his coin, he never cared enough to sense.

And then there was Jaskier. He had never been afraid to come near Geralt, to get up in his face and yell at him if he was reckless, to bandage his wounds when he got hurt. He touched Geralt as if it was a gift, not a duty or a chore. The first time he had touched Geralt, the Witcher had slammed his wrist against the nearest tree, a cruel curl of satisfaction at the bard’s cry. Thinking back on it now, it makes his stomach curdle, Jaskier had taken all the abuse and insults and vitriol Geralt had spewed on him and repaid him with steadfast loyalty and kindness, gutsy in his confrontation with any barkeep and tavern visitor who defamed the Witcher. 

Jaskier who touched him so gently, as if he was something precious, something worth protecting. Once, after a performance, half drunk on the raucous audience, and half plain drunk, he had thrown his arms around Geralt and pulled him in for a hug. It had left Geralt in a similar paralyzed state, stiff as a statue. He could not recall the last time someone had hugged him for the sake of doing so. And while the embrace itself had lasted mere seconds, the feelings it had stirred in Geralt had lasted him through the night and into the next week.

“Geralt.” Jaskier called out.

When Geralt opened his eyes from where they had fallen shut, Jaskier was half obscured by shadows, but he could still make out a fond smile on his face.

“You sleep now. The sooner you get better, the sooner we can get a move on.”

A faint rumble rolled through Geralt’s body, making Jaskier look up at his face again.

“ _Oh. Oh darling_.” he exhaled.

He moved up from his current positioning, rising onto his knees. If he hadn’t already been paralyzed, Geralt knew he’d be frozen.

The callouses always surprised him even they should have been the least surprising thing about this situation. Calloused fingers touched his face hesitantly, caressing the thin skin before Jaskier’s thumb brushed under his eye. Geralt felt a slight coolness spread across his cheek and realized he had tears. He was crying. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. He hadn’t even realized his body was capable of doing so anymore.

Jaskier wiped his tears away with the same tenderness he treated Geralt, as if they were something precious to be treasured.

“I’m right here my dear. Right here.” Jaskier cooed. Normally, Geralt would have most likely bitten Jaskier off for such behavior, but paralyzed and entirely in the hands of the bard, Geralt did not feel as though his vulnerability was a weakness. Because for once, he trusted the person on the other side not to hurt him. And right there, with what felt like his entire body flayed open and every nerve exposed, Jaskier’s reverence felt as painful as a thousand scorpion bites and as soothing as a cool river bath on a burning summer day.

Geralt did not know when exactly he fell asleep, but when he stirred the next morning, it started with his brain waking up and the twitching of his extremities. There was also a pleasant heat curled up on his uninjured side. When he twisted his head, he saw Jaskier had coiled himself into a small ball, one arm thrown across the Witcher’s torso, the hand laying protectively over the bandaged area, and the other tucked between the two bodies. His forehead was resting on Geralt’s chest, and his breaths were smooth and even, still asleep.

Fearful of disturbing the sleeping bard, Geralt languidly stretched each of his extremities, biting back a groan at the satisfaction of being in control of his own body once again. Deciding to push his luck, considering Jaskier was usually a heavy sleeper, Geralt tried to stretch his spine as well, but froze and Jaskier emitted a small whine, and the arm around his waist tightened. Geralt lowered himself back to the bedroll, and stayed still as Jaskier shuffled in closer before settling once again. Geralt let out a deep breath. Craning his head, he surveyed the campsite. Off to one side he could see Roach was still asleep as well. The fire from last night had burned out, a small wisp of smoke blowing from the ashes. The pot where Jaskier had made dinner was turned upside down against the stones lining the fire pit.

Their saddle bags had been placed next to Roach, and Jaskier’s lute was leaning against the tree. Turning his head the other way, Geralt winced. His armor had been tossed carelessly into a pile last night, and his smell was telling him the blood would be a bitch to get out of. Their spare rags were put in a nearby pile, all bloody too. Frowning, Geralt looked around as he tried to find his swords, before he saw two sheaths peeking out beside Jaskier’s lute. Geralt supposed he should be grateful Jaskier had remembered to wipe down his swords and put them back in their sheaths.

Focusing on lifting on arm, Geralt gritted his teeth before succeeding, and gently moved it on top of the bard’s head. Twitching his fingers, he rubbed across the silky soft hair, so much shorter than his own, but most likely much cleaner.

Geralt brushing out Jaskier’s hair with his fingers till he heard the bard shift and let out a small groan. He heard his heartbeat start to beat faster, and felt the hand over the bandages jerk as Jaskier woke up. Within one blink of the eye and the other Jaskier had lurched out of Geralt’s grasp, standing and spluttering. “Ah,Geralt, we, uh, I didn’t, I mean I did, but not like that, uh no, that’s not true, uh…” Jaskier trailed off at Geralt’s unimpressed stare. “Please don’t kill me?” he squeaked out finally. 

Geralt sighed. “Thank you Jaskier.”

“No I totally get, but in my defense, wait what?” Jaskier started to babble before he processed what Geralt said.

“Thank you Jaskier” Geralt repeated, customary growl starting to creep into his voice.

“Oh, um. You’re welcome.” Jaskier said as he stood up straighter. There was a beat as both men just stared at each other. As usual, Jaskier was the one to break the silence. “Let me check your wound?” he asked.

Geralt grunted his consent. To be entirely honest, he could feel the skin had knit itself back together overnight, considering that despite the circumstances, Jaskier had been diligent in cleaning the wound to lessen the possibility of infection. He could check the wound himself. But Geralt wanted to feel those soft calloused hands on his skin again, enjoy a few more stolen touches where he was held like he was worth protecting.

He stayed still as Jaskier sunk back to his knees besides where Geralt had pulled himself up to sit on the bedroll. He managed to control his breathing enough to mask the deep inhale he took when Jaskier bent to remove the bandages, his noses filling with the scent of Jaskier’s vanilla and citrus bathing oils as well as the day old sweat from the road. He could also scent his own smell on the bard, and a small primal part of his brain surged with foreign possessiveness over the bard.

“Well, the wound looks all healed up to me Geralt, though the skin is still a little pink, so it might be tender.” Jaskier commented, rising back up to sit on his heels, unwound bandages in his hands.

“Hmm.”

“What are the chances I convince you to not wear armor today? Give the wound some more breathing room.”

“You want me to walk with you through well known monster infested wounds with no armor?” Geralt deadpanned.

Jaskier turned pink. “Ah, I guess not. Well if you don’t mind a late start, there is a fresh stream really close to here, I’ll just go wash these real quick and get back. I’ll bring our food packs to you, and you can start on breakfast in the meanwhile?”

Before Jaskier could move too far away though, Geralt’s hand whipped out and grabbed Jaskier’s wrist. He simultaneously heard and felt the bard’s pulse jump, but it wasn’t out of fear, just surprise. Again, what other human would trust him that much? He couldn’t even look at Jaskier, focusing instead on Roach, who was observing the proceedings with her usual knowing gaze.

“I mean it Jaskier, thank you.”

Jaskier tilted his head as he looked at him from beneath ridiculously long lashes. “Alright? Honestly Geralt, I’m glad you are starting to realize manners matter, but I have bandaged you up before.”

Geralt harrumphed out of frustration. “Not just- I’m not saying thank you for the bandages. Thank you for -” The words choked their way out of his throat. “being my friend.”

There was another beat. Geralt felt his own heart speed up, pumping painfully against his chest. The sounds of the forest seemed dull in comparison, and he still couldn’t get himself to look at those blue eyes.

He was so lost in his thoughts he was taken entirely by surprise when two arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders, Jaskier leaning his weight against Geralt’s chest. After an aborted jerking of his hands, Geralt cautiously placed his own hands on the bard’s back, struck by the difference between their builds.

He nearly jumped upright when he felt something cold hit his neck, and panicked further when he realized the bard was crying.

“Jaskier?! Jaskier what- why? I am sor-”

Jaskier pulled himself away, eyes red and puffy but determined as his hands dug themselves into the Witcher’s shoulders. “Don’t you dare you bastard. Don’t you dare apologize for calling me your friend or for whatever other reason you can think of.”

Geralt was dumbfounded. “Why are you crying?”

Jaskier laughed, removing one hand to wipe away his own face before giving Geralt a dazzling smile. “I’m happy, idiot.”

“Uh-”

“Geralt, I know you care about me even if you never say so in words. Mainly because I know how difficult words are for you. So thank you for saying the words out loud.”

“It’s the least you deserve.” the words escaped before Geralt could stop them.

“Huh?”

“I just-” Geralt exhaled. “I cannot remember the last time someone held me like I… like I was something breakable. Like I was important. You are the first human in- no the first person in general in a very long time to look at me and see me beyond my skills to kill or fuck or be a body to put in between yourself and danger. Thank you.”

Jaskier looked ready to cry again.

“Please don’t cry.”

Jaskier hiccuped his sob, wiping both eyes once again before nodding.

“I won’t. And Geralt? You are something worth protecting. You are not just my bestest friend in the whole world. You are a hero, you are kind, and you are moral, and you care. You are as far from a beast as any person I’ve met. Hell I have known humans who are far more monstrous than you could ever imagine being. I am sad that you have not had this. Someone who can tell you this before. But I promise you now, for as long as I am by your side, I will protect you.”

The words sounded ridiculous, but Geralt knew in his bones that Jaskier would stay true to his promise, to his vow.

So, the only thing the Witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken this extraordinary human bard had transformed into the White Wolf, could do was haul Jaskier into another hug and hold on for a long time, tears once again falling as he let go of decades of loneliness and anguish. Knowing Jaskier would catch him.

Knowing Jaskier would hold him for as long as he needed.

Knowing Jaskier would protect the heart he had helped Geralt realize he still had.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again for reading my story!
> 
> If you enjoyed it, please let me know in the comments. And if you want to chat with me, find me at fangirlshrewt97.tumblr.com


End file.
